


The Best Deceptions

by myracingthoughts



Series: Darcy Lewis Bingo [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, People Watching, Student Darcy Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: Darcy really didn’t want to write her thesis. The boy in dark-washed denim was the perfect distraction. But all things considered, their first meeting was closer to pulp fiction than her fantasy.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Series: Darcy Lewis Bingo [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927495
Comments: 20
Kudos: 177
Collections: Darcy Lewis Bingo





	The Best Deceptions

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Darcy Lewis Bingo and checks off box C3 - Six College Credits.

“I have a flat white for Harriet!”

There was something about ordering coffee under a different name. Sure, it was stupid and insignificant, and most people probably wouldn’t think twice about it. But Darcy did. 

Maybe it was the thrill of a little white lie or the idea of being a little more anonymous in the age of the internet. But either way, Darcy Lewis had her favourite coffee cup aliases, and it was a fun game of guess the reference. 

Today’s was a little niche. Most people didn’t know that, for a while, Darcy was convinced she’d end up espionage, travel the world and have grand adventures —she might have seen _Harriet the Spy_ one too many times. But these days, the only mystery Darcy was solving was why the hell she thought going back to finish college was a good idea.

Fifty more pages and she would finally be officially done with her last six college credits, and she could have a real-life, honest to goodness adult job. 

And, honestly, the monotony of some 9-5 desk gig would be better than this academic hellscape. 

In this home stretch of citations, research and editing, Darcy decided to motivate herself with a little carrot-on-a-stick action. So long as she worked on her thesis, she could afford to treat herself with some ethically-sourced caffeine in a fancy environmentally-friendly cup.

“Iced green tea, unsweetened, for Sarah?”

So, she soaked in the soundscape, between the smell of freshly-ground coffee and the spurts of steam and frothing milk. The wifi was better here than her closet-sized apartment, anyway. If the rumours were right, the chatty atmosphere and change of space were sure solves for writer’s block. 

Or whatever she was calling her chronic procrastination these days. 

In his blunt ‘back in my day’ way, her supervisor would just call it laziness. Dr. Brozik had seen the rise and fall of communism in person, and Darcy was pretty sure he used peach schnapps instead of mouthwash. But for a supervisor, he wasn’t the worst draw. On some cafe days, she’d smile and nod over webcam at the old Czech man who still snail-mailed her revisions, and prayed he didn’t assign her any more readings.

Not to be dramatic or anything —Darcy? Dramatic? _Never._ — but she probably would have taken a punch to the jaw over pouring over another stupid, outdated academic paper.

She twirled a pen between her fingers, deciding where to set her cursor on the screen before she coaxed herself into typing.

“How many times can I use authoritarian in the same paragraph? Never mind. Don’t want to know. Not a drinking game I want to play,” Darcy muttered to herself. “Unless I want alcohol poisoning.” 

The shop was abnormally quiet for this time of day, so there wasn’t even the added bonus of someone looking over and shooting her a dirty look for her out-loud wonderings. No fun. 

It’d only been two weeks of her spending hours staked out at a table, but she found herself drifting between sentences, drawn in by all the colourful stimuli. On day two, she realized the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves had everything from _Green Eggs and Ham_ to the _Satanic Bible_ — but this was New York, after all. Manhattan was a patchwork of flashing lights and backstories. 

It showed in the people, too. Each visitor was like their own little novel. 

Darcy liked to think she was pretty good at reading people, so when the wifi cut out or boredom set in, she spent a lot of time people-watching. Honestly, she’d do anything to get her mind off research, so it was the perfect escape from decoding MLA style. 

With two weeks’ worth of material, she’d even created little narratives for the regulars.

There was the bro dude —more friendly giant than douche city— who had dropped his phone four times in the last three days. He was this cuddly, slouchy knit hat-wearing teddy bear who she was pretty sure had escaped his handlers and didn’t seem to know his own strength. 

RIP phone number one.

He was usually spotted toting a black coffee and half-a-dozen baked goods and was a regular part of the noon crowd—all clear signs of a life of late-night essays and keggers. Honestly, whenever her eyes wandered over, he looked happy not to be doing much of anything. She watched him giggling at videos on his phone screen and getting distracted by the hundreds of cyclists whizzing by. 

“Caffe Americano for Helena!”

On the other end of the spectrum was the six AM blonde bombshell —she was a whole other library, maybe a different branch entirely. She screamed luxury from H to T (Hermes to Tom Ford, probably) and always took the seat in the cafe’s back corner. 

Mob boss would be the stereotypical Scorcese-style backstory, but somehow Darcy wasn’t sure. Her bet was heiress, or maybe one of those white hat hacker types. Whatever she was, it was the kind of person who ordered a red-eye and nursed the half-empty cup for an hour, unblinking eyes with the full room in view.

“Flat white on the bar!”

Last but not least was the unpredictable Labrador. You know the type; loyal, charming and adorable. He was a little scruffy around the edges, worn t-shirts and scuffed boots, and came in at all hours —though he always shot her a smile. 

Darcy had to admit that this particular regular should have been the first on her mental list. The first one she spotted and caught her attention, and the one that sent a little flutter through her when they happened to find each other’s gaze —or rather, when he happened to catch her staring. 

But it was hard to peel herself away from those piercing eyes, the dimpled smile.

The ring of the overhead bell broke her attention, and _speak of the devil_. Maybe today would be the day that the boy in dark-washed denim would approach her table, point down and ask if anyone was sitting there. She’d say no —try not to make an imaginary friend joke— they’d get chatting and she’d finally get to learn his name behind the ‘B’ marked in ink on his cups.

It wasn’t until he was seated in the chair across from her at her tiny bistro table that she even realized it was happening. This was the moment.

“I know this is going to sound weird, but I need you to trust me and come with me.”

And that wasn’t exactly how she imagined it.

As opening lines go, it wasn’t the best she’d ever heard —probably not the worst, either. She didn’t really want to analyze what that said about her dating life.

No coffee cup in hand, no smile, just a grim look staring at her from across the table. Halfway through proof-reading a 41-word sentence ( _it’s poli sci, OK?_ ), she was a little dazed as she glanced up at him, managing an ever-graceful, “Wha—?”

His grey eyes softened a smidge as she shakily pulled her earbuds out, “Your name is Darcy Lewis, and you don’t know this yet, but you’re in trouble. I want to help get you out of harm’s way so my team can deal with the assholes following you.”

“Someone’s following me? Who sent _you_?”

Darcy assessed room suspiciously, heartbeat sounding much too loud in her ears. If this guy was telling the truth, this was bad. 

“SHIELD.”

That was the magic word. It felt like all the air escaped from Darcy’s lungs as she realized her past had just caught up to her. So much for leaving the aliens and espionage in London with Ian.

But even if this guy was right, why would anyone want _her_? All she had to her name was six figures of debt and a lot of tedious political science research that wasn’t even published yet.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re not working for the wrong SHIELD?”

But something about this guy rang true. Some weird corner of her mind would probably call it _vibes_ or something equally woo woo —maybe she’d been visiting this cafe too long— but the longer she stared at those eyes, the more she was convinced.

“Thor told me I should have brought a taser for proof, but I didn’t believe him. Probably should have, right? That’s your weapon of choice?” She nodded, dumbfounded as he looked down at his watch. “Darcy, we need to go _now_ , so leave your things and let’s go.”

“But my thesis!” she blurted out, flailing her hands towards her laptop. 

Sure, leaving the books was easy, even the paper notes were easy —those were redundant at this point. But her laptop… Her months of research and re-words and over a hundred pages-worth of college work? No, that wasn’t staying behind.

His eyes darted between hers, and she wasn’t sure if he was making sure she was serious, or that was his fed-up face. Maybe he had resting fed-up face.

He relented with a sigh, “Fine, quickly!”

Darcy snapped it shut and shoved it into her backpack in one smooth motion. Tearing her jacket from the back of her chair, she gladly sacrificed her overpriced texts and library book and followed the man in the denim jacket.

“Wait!” She called just before crossing the threshold. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Bucky,” he said with that grin that turned all her organs into goo. 

He offered her a hand, which she expected to shake in introduction, but he held on instead, tugging her along as he wove them through the crowded Manhattan streets. Darcy didn’t question it. She might have even threaded their fingers together somewhere along the way, so they didn’t lose grip, but it was _purely_ tactical.

It felt like they’d been speed-walking for miles before he swept her into an alley, though it’d probably only been half-a-dozen blocks. Bucky tugged a little too hard, redirecting her out of the traffic flow, and her foot slipped. She braced herself to hit the ground but was quickly righted against his chest by one _very_ defined arm. 

The scent of motor oil and gunpowder filled her nose and lit up something inside her, and she could have lost herself in that steel grey gaze. 

He didn’t move her, and she was happy to stay.

“We should have lost them by now,” he told her quietly, face inches away. But something seemed to cross his mind as he lingered on the strap of her backpack, “Give me your bag.”

So much for having a moment.

He rifled through scrap paper, spare pencils —and probably a couple of tampons before reaching her laptop. Peeling back an unfamiliar sticker she hadn’t noticed until now, he revealed a tiny silver disk hidden behind the vinyl before crushing it between his fingers.

“Someone put a tracker on my laptop?”

It sounded even more absurd out loud.

“Seems like someone’s real interested in you and your research.” 

She couldn’t imagine any of her studies actually being worth anything beyond school credit. 

Her mind whirled through all her research, case studies of world nations, analyzing speeches and propaganda from historical government agencies. Dr. Brozik was translating a bunch of the original documents himself, as many of them had been forgotten by history and _oh my god, Darcy_ that totally sounds like the beginning of some political thriller.

Darcy paled as she started to connect the dots, breathing becoming a little more forced. 

“You OK, doll?”

His hands gently held her by her shoulders, steadying her and frowning slightly. Despite the old-timey cheese of it all, something inside Darcy was quelled at the nickname. She was pretty sure no one else could have pulled off calling her ‘doll,’ but she’d be happy to hear it again out of his mouth.

And again, and again…

It made it a little easier to put on a brave face as her brain tried to work out just how close she’d been to getting killed again.

“Not really, but I don’t know how you’re supposed to feel when you’re saved by a secret organization you were pretty sure disbanded. Scratch that— I do, and it usually involves hyperventilating and altering the space-time continuum or whatever…” Darcy rambled, tongue barely keeping up with her train of thought. 

“Yeah, that’ll happen.”

So, Bucky wasn’t much of a talker. Or maybe he wasn’t good at comforting motor mouths whose only self-preservation skill was her trusty taser. She could live with that.

Feeling a little lighter with that off her chest, she asked the real next question, “So, what do we do now?”

“Well, we’ll catch our ride and be on our way.”

Darcy frowned, “Our ride? Like a car or something?”

“Or something,”

“And where is ‘on our way’ exactly?”

Bucky nudged his head away from the sidewalk, a silent beckon to follow. The alley they were holed-up in led to an abandoned parking lot, clear of stragglers and debris. This probably wasn’t their final destination — not unless she was about to end up in the trunk of some car in some _Dirty John_ -style act of betrayal.

Before she could get the real answer out of him, a sudden gust swirled around them, and Darcy’s hair whipped around in the wind.

Wait. Were those propellor noises?

A ramp seemed to appear in front of them out of nowhere, opening up like a floating portal in the surroundings, and Darcy might have gripped Bucky’s arm to ground herself from her next meltdown. Instead of shrugging her off, he shifted her grip to his hand again. 

He _held her hand_. 

Between the sight in front of her and the shock at human contact from a total(ly hot) stranger, she was pretty sure she’d died somewhere along the way to their pick-up point. She was dead, and this was some weird limbo, but at least there was some eye candy.

Darcy grabbed Bucky’s hand more than willingly and followed him onto the half-invisible jet. 

Wonder Woman had nothing on this shit.

“Darcy Lewis, we meet again,” a very familiar blond offered her a wry smile. Bucky quickly unclasped their hands at the sound. “You checked her for weapons, right? This one packs a wallop.”

She usually would have smiled at the ego boost, but there were so many unanswered questions that her head was spinning, “Clint? What the actual fuck is going on?”

Long story short, her thesis supervisor had stumbled on some pretty classified Hydra documents. And Darcy had been the one digitizing his hard copy translations, so she’d ended up in the proverbial line of fire. Only a couple of blocks had stood between her and some goons that would have done god knows what to her. 

Well, a couple of blocks and a super soldier, but who’s counting?

Apparently, her last two weeks’ worth of cafe trips had been surveilled by SHIELD. And the kicker was all those people she’d been cleverly creating backstories were highly-trained SHIELD agents —including one James Buchanan Barnes, apparent bestie to Cap, and the man she’d been making eyes at the whole time.

Which she still wasn’t apologizing for, by the way.

Now that she was up to speed and closing in on wherever HQ was, Clint excused himself to prep for landing, leaving her and Bucky alone in the back of the QuinJet. His arms were across his chest, and he was still watching her the way he had for the last two weeks.

“You seriously weren’t leaving without your thesis? Isn’t it backed up to high hell?” he asked, incredulous.

Out of this whole scenario, that was the thing he was stuck on? Really? That was less believable than a tiny tracker in a vinyl sticker?

 _Spies_.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that’s the only thing standing between me and the most expensive piece of paper I’ll ever own,” she shot back.

“Dead girls don’t earn degrees, doll.”

And yeah, he had a point.

“Well,” frowning, she didn’t have a good answer here. “We made it out alright, didn’t we?

He didn’t seem so convinced, “You got lucky.”

“No, I got you,” she said with a soft smile as she bumped him with her shoulder.

A smirk crept upon his face and a twinkle in his eyes at her cheesy line. She’d call it a win. Anything to get her mind off her whirlwind of a day, or how many calls she’d have to make once she got home and settled and backed up her thesis a thousand times. Maybe burned the Professor’s correspondence too, just to be safe. Ugh, she was so not looking forward to the debrief at the end of this. 

She really didn’t miss SHIELD debriefs.

By the time Darcy finished her train of thought, the silence was back with a vengeance. But how exactly does someone end social interaction that started with a life-saving mission? Does she just casually drop a “goodbye, and thanks for making sure I didn’t die the last two weeks?”

No, that didn’t sound right. 

“So, hypothetical question,” Darcy proposed, and Bucky raised his eyebrows in response. “If my life hadn’t been in imminent danger today, and you just _happened_ to actually be a coffee shop regular, would you have asked me out today, do you think?”

He played with her, pretending to mull it over harder than deciding between ice cream flavours. But she could see all the way through that twitch in the corner of his lip and the crow’s feet already on his face. Bucky Barnes was trouble, and if it wasn’t evident by her lack of know-how or how she always managed to get herself into these situations, Darcy Lewis _loved_ trouble.

“A dame like you? I would have asked you out on day one,” Bucky said, inching closer to her. “This is New York. You don’t let someone like someone like that slip by.”

Darcy blushed, “You’re a rotten flirt, Barnes. Getting a girl’s hopes up like that.”

That mouth. Those lips. That smirk.

She was a goner.

“I think I’m a great flirt,” he defended. “And what? You don’t believe me?”

She shook her head and tried to bite back a smile, “Not one bit. You probably faked the whole thing. How do I know you don’t flirt with _all_ the girls you save?”

“That hurts,” hand over chest; he put on his best-wounded expression. “I’ll let you in a little secret: I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a very good actor.”

She couldn’t stop herself, “Even worse at asking a girl out apparently.”

“Had to save her life first. Gotta have priorities, doll.”

Darcy eyed him up and down in full view, watching him do the same in turn. It was this little game of chicken; see how many lines you could get until the other broke down and gave the other what they wanted.

“Hm, a likely story.”

Not that it was quite as much fun when they both wanted the same thing.

But she was sure they could make their own fun later.

“So, dinner?”

**Author's Note:**

> I have at least two more Wintershock fics planned for this bingo card, so stay tuned! 👀
> 
> Thanks for reading! All comments, kudos and bookmarks are loved and cherished.
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/), where I post comic book content, work updates, and behind-the-scenes commentary.


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